


The Middle Mile

by LaCidiana



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Genie/Djinn, Gen, Unfinished and Discontinued
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2007-12-11
Updated: 2007-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-22 14:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaCidiana/pseuds/LaCidiana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean realizes that the djinn's world is more tangible than he suspected, he decides to pursue his old life as a hunter and find out the truth of his reality. What he doesn't count on is his civilian brother tagging along, as well as the bridge that gradually grows over the rift between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bargain

**Author's Note:**

> This was written back in 2007, and although I have an ongoing urge to poke at it again, I'm not sure it'll ever be finished. Still, here are the first two chapters for posterity.
> 
> Fic inspired, egged on, and beta'd by the incomparable Famira.

The hospital was as small and unfamiliar as the city surrounding it, and if it weren't for Dean's unconscious figure on the bed in front of him, Sam might have convinced himself that the events of the night before had been no more than a nightmare. Even now, it was only the intensely awful taste of the hospital's coffee that kept him grounded, and as he held it with one hand and fiddled with Dean's phone with the other, he wondered why he hadn't yet called home.

One part of him was relieved he'd stuck with his estranged brother, that he'd followed him on his crazy errand and been there to call 911 when it counted. Another part of him was less altruistic, the part that had gotten over the boogeyman long ago and which was worrying about the study time he'd lose from the memory of a couple of dead bodies and seeing his brother try to kill himself.

In hindsight, that last trauma might have stuck with him anyway for different reasons than the events of last night.

"Sammy...? That you?"

Sam's head snapped up and he stood from his chair. Dean looked like hell, but his eyes were half-open and he was smirking like this was nothing, like he'd gotten stabbed and gotten over it a thousand times before.

"Dean," Sam scowled as he approached the bed, and though he sounded stern, he was more relieved than he could say. "You're an idiot, you know that?"

"Goin' after the djinn by myself? Yeah, yeah, I know." Dean grimaced as he tried to shift his weight. "Wouldn't believe the stuff it put in my head. You should be glad I had the balls to--"

"To _what_ , Dean?" Sam shook his head, frustrated that his brother's delusion continued even after the fact. "Stab yourself?"

Dean's eyes slid over to Sam's as his smirk slowly faded. He stared for a moment.

"What?"

"Do you ever take responsibility for anything?" Sam asked through an angry sigh, rubbing his eyes with one hand. He hadn't gotten any sleep. "How are you going to explain this to Mom? To Carmen?"

"I..." Dean seemed to be at a loss for words as he turned his head and stared at the wall opposite him. He arched an eyebrow. "Huh."

"Dean," Sam said, his hand tense as he set his coffee cup down on the nearby bedside table. "You don't get to try to kill yourself and justify it with 'huh.'"

"I know, I know!" Dean's voice rose a few notches in volume, and he grit his teeth as his injured chest rose and fell sharply. " _Dammit!_ "

Sam got the feeling that Dean's cursing was due to something other than pain, and the thought unsettled him more than it should have. He watched as his brother coughed, then groaned, then fell back into the bed's white sheets. Sam should have helped him, put a hand on his shoulder or called a nurse, but he just didn't feel that generous at the moment.

Instead, he sat back down in his chair and took a swig of his lukewarm coffee, eyes fixed on Dean in the way a wolf watches its stumbling, somewhat brain-dead young. Dean seemed to be in another world altogether, staring at the ceiling for a good ten seconds before he said anything.

"What'd you tell the cops?" Dean's voice was hoarser than before.

"The cops?" Sam asked in his evasive, law school way. "Dean--"

"Did you tell them your whackjob brother went to hunt a djinn, and there just happened to be dead bodies when you got there?"

Sam found it hard to keep his cool with the accusatory tone his brother was using, but then again, he knew his brother wasn't all there. He sighed and scratched his head.

"I told them you had suspicions about an abandoned building in this town, and when we went in, there was a tattooed man keeping a girl hostage." Sam paused, wondering again at how Dean had dragged them into this whole mess and still marveling at the fact that he'd lied to the police to protect the idiot.

"Did you show them our IDs?" Dean asked, sounding grim.

"What?" Sam balked at the absurdity of the question before continuing. "Of course I did, Dean! What do you think we are, criminals?"

"I don't, but I'm sure as hell the cops did once they saw we drove all the way from Kansas to play vigilante." Against all reason, Dean began to sit up, and this time Sam did rush over and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Then just tell them the truth, Dean," he said. "Tell them how you knew about the guy and then we can get out of here."

"Trust me," Dean replied with a snort, wincing as he reached for the hospital bed's recliner switch, "the truth won't help, and 'sides, not really in a state to travel."

This was hopeless. Sam turned his gaze away from his brother, fiddling with the cell phone again as it slowly dawned on him that this whole thing wasn't some one-night accident that was going to go away with the morning. It made him angry that he could still dwell on such childish notions, that there was half a chance that there was something in the world that Dean was smarter about than he was.

"You haven't called them yet, have you?"

Sam looked to Dean, whose face seemed to go from despondent to jovial in a matter of seconds.

"You didn't!" Dean laughed and grimaced at the same time. "Man, maybe you do have some common sense."

"Common sense?" Sam echoed disbelievingly. "How the hell is not letting Mom and Carmen know that you're on the brink of death in the middle of nowhere _common sense?_ "

"Aw, c'mon, Sam," Dean groaned, this time with exasperation instead of pain. Although he was still smiling, Sam could tell from the lack of light in his eyes that the expression was forced. "They don't deserve to hear about all that stuff we saw. Hell," he gestured in Sam's direction, "you don't either."

There was something to that, something more than Dean was saying. It was weird for Sam to know that, Sam who had never seen Dean act the way he had these past two days, dazed and confused but bewilderedly well-meaning. This wasn't the Dean Sam knew, the Dean who was selfish and indecent and drunk. The way Dean was talking now, it was as if he cared more about other people than he did himself.

"Is that why you've been putting on the nice guy act?" Sam asked slowly, gears turning in his head until they finally came to a satisfactory conclusion. He looked to Dean, eyes narrowed. "Were you just trying to make amends because you knew you were going to kill yourself?"

"What?" Dean seemed taken aback for a moment, looking a mix of hurt and puzzled until he winced and shook his head. "No, _hell_ no--just..."

Dean hesitated, like he didn't know what to say. Sam forced himself to think it was because his brother needed to come up with an excuse, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was still missing a vital part of the equation.

"I just... feel bad about how things turned out, Sammy." Dean finally said, wry grin on his face. "Guess I'm not allowed to call you that, though."

"A little late to feel bad," Sam muttered, tossing his empty coffee cup to the trash before he stood up and ran a hand through his hair. He didn't understand the 'Sammy' fixation and it gave him the impression that Dean's brain had degenerated to childish mush. Who knew; maybe the drinking and auto shop fumes Dean inhaled on a daily basis had messed him up, and maybe Sam just hadn't noticed the change because he hardly ever saw the guy. If that were the case, Sam couldn't help but think that he didn't feel much pity. Dean had brought it upon himself.

The phone in Sam's hand suddenly felt heavier and more conspicuous than it had before. With a sigh, he brought it up and snapped it open, scrolling to "Mom" on the contact list.

"What're you gonna tell them?"

Sam glanced back to Dean, then to the room's window. Although the curtains were half-drawn, he could see the faint light of dawn approaching.

"That you're having a crisis," Sam said after a moment, taking a deep breath. He scratched behind his ear. "I'll tell them you're having a crisis and you wanted to get away from everyone, but I didn't let you."

"And the djinn? The injury?"

Sam hesitated from making the call. He glanced up, then down again with an exasperated snort as he pressed "Send."

"You can come up with a half-assed excuse for that yourself, Dean."

"Hey," Dean smirked, "better me than you."

\---

Dean could hear the faint sound of voices from beyond the door of the hospital room and though he couldn't make out any words, he had a good idea what they were talking about. Sure, everyone had their weird days, and people were going to accept that and forgive it, but Dean knew that with this last stunt he'd pulled, he'd most likely thrown his second chance to live a normal life down the crapshoot.

Then again, he wasn't what really mattered here. Dean opened his eyes and glanced around the room, bleary gaze moving from Mom's discarded purse to the law school textbooks that Sam had told Jessica to bring over for him to study. The sight made him smile a little, though craning his neck pulled at his chest's muscles and caused a new wave of pain to overtake him. Though he didn't cry out, he grit his teeth and eased himself back until he was lying down again. He closed his eyes and tried to remember times he'd been worse off, and really, there were a lot to choose from.

"...how long...acting this way?"

"...past couple of days..."

Dean opened his eyes, a new kind of ache growing in him. He of all people knew how a few crazy-sounding ramblings could ruin a relationship beyond mending, a relationship you thought was strong and you thought you could risk your life on. He knew that he wanted this, wanted his family, wanted to live and grow old and be happy, but he also knew he could never forgive himself for putting his own happiness above someone else's.

Things didn't work that way.

The door creaked open and Dean glanced over to see Sam poke his head in.

"What's up?" Dean smiled, voice weaker than he'd like to admit. "They need my mugshot yet?"

Sam answered the joke with a furtive glance around the room before he shut the door behind him. He made his way to the bed, looking strangely urgent.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked. His smile faded, though he felt a small surge of gratitude that he could still read his brother's body language even if this was a far cry from the Sam he knew.

"The cops are here," said Sam, and for a moment Dean contemplated how a law student could be so damn nervous about dealing with... well, the law. "They heard you're conscious and they want to take a statement."

Dean paused, waiting for more. When no more came, he glanced to his brother and arched an eyebrow.

"That it?"

"You really aren't concerned?" Sam looked back, and his brow furrowed as he pointed towards the door. "Listen, Dean, those guys mean business. They don't believe the hobo story, and one of the girls he abducted was a deputy's daughter. They're gonna grill you and they're gonna take advantage of the fact that you're out of your mind--"

"Whoa, whoa, tiger," Dean interrupted, holding up a hand and looking Sam in the eye. "First of all, I ain't outta my mind. Second off... did you say _hobo?_ "

" _Yes_ , the tattooed homeless guy," Sam hissed, and Dean looked at him long and hard. It figured that civilian Sam would already be in denial that anything supernatural had happened in the creepy place, and a djinn was human-looking enough that it could pass for one in the eyes of the uninitiated.

There were reasons Dean would want to go along with the lie. Good reasons, objective reasons, reasons like not sounding crazy and covering up his tracks, reasons to take advantage of a perfectly presented excuse to explain something he couldn't explain.

But Dean knew he had a reason more important than that.

"Yeah... Yeah, you're right," he mumbled, looking away and relaxing back into the bed. "The hobo."

There was a knock at the door and Sam's head snapped towards it. He seemed tense as Dean watched him walk away and turn the door handle.

"Good afternoon," the taller of two men gave a nod and flashed his badge. "I'm Detective Whitman and this is Detective Morgan. We'd like a word with your brother?"

Sam nodded back, looking stiffer even than he normally did, and Dean smiled as the two cops breezed past his brother and approached his bed.

"Hey, Officers," he said, trying to act more like a misplaced grease monkey than one of FBI's most wanted. "I hear you guys had some questions?"

"Yes," Morgan, the shorter one, answered. "Quite a few, actually."

"Mr. Winchester," Whitman glanced at Sam, and even from Dean's awkward vantage point, he could tell the officer's smile was curt. "Could you wait outside?"

Sam automatically began to open the door again and Dean turned his attention back towards the officers, trying not to seem as nervous as he was. All his life, he'd laughed in the face of death and authority, but that life had been one where he'd had back-up plans and connections only with those who knew his line of work. Now, he had a family who knew a version of him that was normal, a version that they expected to be as well-adjusted and law-abiding as Dean could get. Now, he had something important he could lose or at least disappoint if he didn't play his cards right.

"Now, Dean," Whitman began, pulling out a small memo pad. "Could you explain to us how--"

"I'm sorry." Sam's voice cut in.

Dean and the detectives looked towards the door where Sam was standing, looking tense as hell.

"Pardon?" Whitman asked, and his voice held more than a hint of intimidation.

"I'm sorry, but..." Sam trailed off for a moment, looking to Dean before steeling his resolve. "Although my brother's agreed to questioning, I'm not sure he's physically or mentally fit to tackle the questions on his own."

Dean's eyes widened and he would've bitched out Sam had the glare he shot him not made him feel like it'd be a really bad idea.

"Son," Morgan said with a drawl, "are you saying you want to solicit an attorney for your brother this early in the investigation?"

"No, no, of course not," Sam raised his hands disarmingly and smiled with the puppy eyes that Dean knew all too well. "I'm a law student and I just feel like it'd be best if I stayed and helped him answer the questions."

The detectives exchanged glances and Whitman shrugged. Dean knew what they were thinking, asshole cops they were; they were banking on a law student not being much help to their suspect and in fact posing a much better gig than having to deal with a lawyer.

"Sure, I suppose it's all right," Morgan said slowly. Dean's glare followed Sam as he nodded thanks and pulled up a chair next to the head of Dean's bed.

"You coulda just said you wanted to stay," Dean muttered. Sam seemed to ignore the aside and smiled pure honesty at the cops.

"So, what do you want to know?"

\---

Sam was beginning to regret having saved his brother's ass from jail time or a stint at an asylum. Although a claim of crazy mixed with coincidence and tempered with lack of evidence had satisfied the cops in Illinois, it was now four months, one MRI, and five psychological evaluations after the fact, and there still didn't seem to be any clear reason for Dean's memory loss or delusions.

The whole thing was a mess, layers of misunderstanding piling upon one another depending on the person involved. The Illinois cops thought Dean was completely nuts, though in a fairly non-murderous way, Carmen thought he'd gone off the deep end of boredom and auto shop chemicals, and Mom thought he was going through a nervous breakdown caused by Dad's death and his own repressed emotions over it.

Jess knew whatever Sam told her, which wasn't much. He wasn't proud that his drunk of a brother had turned out to be crazy too, and he was glad that Dean had sworn him to secrecy on most of what he knew. Sam had more important things to worry about, anyway, like Jess and their engagement and law school on top of it all. It was a shame that they'd decided to spend the summer in Lawrence before Dean's crisis; it was about the last place Sam wanted to be right now because of it, but he figured he could at least be there for Mom while she dealt with the whole thing.

He was doing that now, as he sat down next to her on the couch and rubbed her back. She wasn't crying yet, but Sam was prepared for it with a tissue box in reach while she looked through a hefty photo album.

"You two grew up so fast," she murmured, flipping from one page to another. Her face lit up and she tapped her finger on a picture of the family in front of a pile of hay and pumpkins. "Oh...! Sam, do you remember that ranch we used to go to every Halloween?"

"Yeah, I do." Sam took a breath and forced a smile. "Dean used to tell me the scarecrow over there came to life and attacked little kids."

"Oh, Dean, always making trouble," Mom said, smiling with nostalgia that Sam felt was sorely misplaced. "I remember that fight. It's a good thing you had your father to set him straight and tell you there was no such thing."

"Yeah," Sam said half-heartedly, looking for something less awkward than old photographs to busy himself with. His eyes found the fireplace, and he stood up and walked towards it, motioning towards the basket of logs next to it. "Hey, Mom, want me to get a fire going?"

"Sure, Sam, that'd be nice," she said, though there was something in the tone of her voice that made Sam feel like she was on to him; after all, while it was nearing the end of summer, the nights weren't all that cold yet. Still, he nodded and grabbed a log, placing it on the iron grating.

"You know," Mom started, standing up from her own seat. "Lit fireplaces make me crave hot chocolate. You want some?"

"Sure," Sam said, though by the time he'd given his answer, she was halfway to the kitchen.

"What about Jessica?" She called. "Is she coming back downstairs?"

"Nah, I think she's already asleep," Sam called back as he grabbed for the box of matches on the mantle. He lit one up and put it under the log, waiting for the embers to start burning. Once they did, he stood up and turned around to see that Mom had already brought over a couple of mugs for them.

"Good," she said matter-of-factly, setting the mugs down on the coffee table. "Then we can talk."

"Talk?" Sam echoed as if he didn't already know what she meant. He chuckled a little as he continued: "What's there to talk about?"

"Your brother, for one," she said, sitting back on the couch. "I think that's a pretty big topic for conversation."

"Mom..." Sam started, shaking his head. "I know it's been really hard on all of us, but honestly..."

He paused, unsure of whether he should be fully frank when Mom already had so much on her shoulders.

"Honestly?" Mom arched an eyebrow, picking up her mug. The prompt was enough to keep Sam going, and he scratched the side of his head before he continued.

"Honestly, Mom, I barely know him," Sam said. There were a lot more negative things he could say of his brother, but it'd probably be better to keep quiet on those counts. "I barely knew him back when we lived under the same roof, let alone when we've had half a country between us."

"Well, maybe that's the problem." Mom's voice had taken on a sterner tone, the kind that she usually only used with Dean. "Maybe you should know him better than you do."

"What?" Dumbfounded, Sam watched her take a sip of the hot chocolate. He sputtered for a moment, then gave a laugh that was harsher than he meant it to be. "Are you saying this is _my_ fault?"

"No, Sam," Mom sighed, raising tired eyes towards him. "I'm just saying that you could do more to help him is all."

"Hey," Sam retorted, temper mounting faster than a lit fuse as he gestured towards the front door. " _I'm_ the one who went on the crazy trip with him, okay? I had to deal with some... some _psycho_ and dead bodies, and that's not something you can just forget. Hell, if I hadn't been there..."

Sam trailed off, body tensing even as his frustration began to leave him. Mom watched him carefully, her words quiet but level.

"If you hadn't been there, what?"

Sam rubbed his forehead with one hand as he rested the other on the back of one of the living room chairs.

"Nothing," he muttered. "There wouldn't have been anyone there to stop him from killing himself, that's all."

Sam was sure that Mom knew he wasn't telling the whole truth, but if she did, she didn't give any indication of it. Instead, as Sam closed his eyes and tried to ward off the migraine he was sure was coming, he felt warm hands on his shoulders and opened his eyes to see Mom's steady gaze staring back at him.

"Sam," she began, a look of motherly empathy on her face that could still even the worst mood, "I know this must be hard for you. I know how rebellious your brother was when he was younger. I know how stern we had to be with him and I know Dean took it out on you."

"Yeah, exactly," Sam said. He could barely control the words coming out of his mouth at this point and he wasn't sure if he cared. "Took it out on me, meaning I didn't deserve it."

"Hey, hey, listen to me," she said gently. "I know you didn't deserve it, sweetie, but he's really trying to reach out to you right now. I think he wants to make it up to you."

"He's been trying to make up for a lot of things lately," Sam said under his breath even though he knew Mom could hear him. He knew she'd tell him what she always did: that Dean hadn't meant it and that he had grown out of it, and even if he still drank too much and didn't want to do anything special with his life, it didn't mean he had bad intentions.

The thing was Sam didn't believe it. Maybe it made him sound arrogant, but growing up in the shadow of the constant trouble Dean caused had shaped Sam more than he wanted to admit. He didn't want to be the kid who lied and schemed, the kid who cheated and stole and got grounded more times than he could count. Maybe they'd had different personalities from the start, but it was the way Dean had decided to live that kept them apart, and maybe that's why the recent and sudden changes in his brother bugged Sam so damned much.

Mom had gone and sat down on the couch again, and Sam muttered an apology even though he wasn't sure what he was sorry for. She didn't respond, instead resting her elbow on the couch's armrest and rubbing her eyes.

"Sam..." She started, the sorrow of a mother worried sick lacing her words. "Do you know what the doctors have been saying?"

"Sort of." Sam sat next to her again. He knew Mom needed less of his deep-seated grudges and more of his emotional support, and he really did want to give that to her. "I thought you said they haven't found anything that could be causing it?"

"Medically speaking, no." Mom leaned forward and began wringing her hands slowly. "Even the psychiatrists say that he's been really reserved about talking about himself, and Carmen says..."

She paused. Sam had a bad feeling he wasn't going to like what she had to say.

"Carmen says he keeps talking about a roadtrip." She looked him in the eye. "A roadtrip with you."

"Well, that's... because he's _crazy_." Sam laughed, though it came out more cynical than amused. "I mean, come on, Mom. The last roadtrip we went on together was when we were kids; we nearly killed each other in the backseat."

"Sam, don't avoid the point," she said with a shake of her head. "You know he wants to spend time with you, and frankly, I don't think a roadtrip is such a bad idea."

Sam's head snapped up.

"Excuse me?"

"You'd be the one driving, of course," Mom continued as if Sam's tone hadn't been one of utter disbelief. "And you'd keep an eye on him and check in with us every day..."

"Mom," Sam said slowly, "an insane roadtrip is what started this whole mess in the first place. Besides, I--"

"No," Mom cut him off, her voice lowering to the kind of serious that made Sam uncomfortable. "You don't just lose your mind overnight, Sam; he must have been getting like this for months, maybe even since your father passed."

"Well, you know how Dean is," Sam offered a small kernel he did know for sure about his brother's personality, "he hides anything un-macho."

"But we should have known that, Sam!" Mom clasped his hand in hers. He didn't like how she kept on bringing "we" into the conversation. "The way he is, and how much he looked up to your father..."

"Yeah," Sam replied halfheartedly. He really didn't know what he could have done to keep his brother off the deep end; he'd been in California when Dad died and he'd only been able to spare a couple of weeks back home for the funeral. "But Mom, if anyone should have been noticing weird behavior, it's Carmen. It's not like any of us--"

"We're his _family_ , Sam." Her grip on his hands tightened. "You can't tell me there was nothing we could have done."

"I don't know, Mom," Sam mumbled. "Don't really know him well enough to say for sure."

Sam knew it was a mistake to go back to _that_ point of contention as soon as he said it. Mom's hands tensed just before she sighed.

"That's exactly why you need some time with him. He needs you right now."

For a moment, Sam felt like agreeing. He knew what his mom was saying was true and he knew that helping Dean would make her happy again, at least for a while. But then he remembered Jess and law school, the two loves of his life, and he remembered that there were only a couple weeks left of summer vacation before he had to get back to Stanford. He remembered that his brother had never been there when he'd needed him, and he remembered how much it had hurt.

"I... I can't, Mom." Sam looked away as he finally pulled his hands from hers, and he stood up, running a hand through his hair. "There's not enough time left in the summer for something like that to do any good. I can't just drop my responsibilities for him."

'Responsibilities' was a word that Sam used frequently and a word that he put a lot of stock in. 'Responsibilities' included money and school and keeping his life together. They didn't include his brother.

And yet Sam got the feeling that Mom thought they did, and he knew that saying otherwise was as good as breaking her heart. She knew her sons had never gotten along and even now viewed each other with a kind of detached indifference; Sam knew it too, and he wondered if he cared at this point. His big brother _had_ mattered to him at some point in his life, back when he was too young and naive to know any better.

He waited for her to press the point so he could keep saying no even if he felt guilty about it, but his mom's usual stubbornness never came. Instead, he heard the clinking of mugs and turned around to see his mom gathering up the hot chocolate cups and standing up.

"I know, Sam." she murmured, back turned towards him as she made her way back to the kitchen. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't be putting all of this on your shoulders."

Sam watched her as she walked, pace slow and tired, her shoulders slightly slumped. The way she spoke sounded profoundly exhausted, and when she said she was going up to bed, there was something like grief in her voice.

"I'll do it," Sam said, and as soon as the words left his mouth, he winced.


	2. Won't Get Fooled Again

The binder was about the closest Dean could find to Dad's old journal, thick and sturdy and leather-bound. Dean fiddled with the clasp as he grabbed a pen from the bedside table, and, as he opened to a spot twenty pages in, he wondered how the hell a person started one of these things.

Sam would probably know. He'd find some internet database and scribble down every encyclopedic fact he could, then circle truths and cross out myths and tuck in newspaper scraps as they went along on their demented roadtrip. It wasn't like Dean couldn't do all of that, but when he was beat up and tired out from wrestling down hellspawn, taking notes was about the last thing on his mind. It was a good damn thing that journal-making was right up Sammy's alley; he'd much rather his chores be cleaning the guns and filling up the tank.

But he didn't have Sammy right now. He had Sam, and even then, he didn't really have him; his current civilian law student of a brother didn't seem to want much to do with him, especially since the whole mess with the djinn four months before. Dean didn't blame him, and despite the way he'd felt before the whole thing, he was glad that his brother was staying far away from him. Getting involved in hunting was about the last thing Dean wanted for a Sam who had a normal life.

Well... sure, he'd told him a couple of things in the car, but that had been Sam's own damn fault for being nosy.

"Dean?"

He looked up to see Carmen open the door to their bedroom, and he made a practiced grin.

"Hey," he said, using his free hand to grab some popcorn from the bag propped up next to him. "What's up?"

She walked over, and Dean would've been a pretty sucky hunter if he hadn't noticed the subtle way she glanced around the room. Sometimes he wondered if the reason he was so careful to act normal was more for her sake than his.

"Just checking in on you," she finally said. "You took your meds, right?"

"Like a good little boy," Dean smiled as he chewed. He swallowed and motioned towards her nurse scrubs. "You off to work?"

"Yeah, just wanted to make sure you were doing okay."

"Babe," Dean said, meeting Carmen's worried eyes with a warm and honest smile, "that whole 'psycho-hobo' thing? Just a bad memory. I'm totally not crazy now."

Carmen laughed and walked to the edge of the bed, and Dean met her face with a gentle hand as she leaned in towards him.

"You just saying that so I'll leave you alone?"

"You kiddin'?" Dean grinned as his lips brushed the side of her mouth. "That's the last thing I want you to do."

"Then you'd better keep not crazy." She smiled, pulling away before Dean could drag her into a full kiss. "I'm all for living on the edge, but not off the deep end."

"Seriously, Carmen, I've been feeling a lot better," Dean said as he leaned back into the pillows at the head of the bed. He tapped the tip of his pen against the journal in his lap. "Been listening to the doctor's orders--taking my meds, writing girly diary entries, all that stuff."

"Glad to hear it," Carmen said, and though her tone was joking, Dean could tell she was relieved. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Damn night shift, stealing my fun." Dean smirked and waved at her. "See ya."

Dean watched as she closed the door behind her, then listened for her footsteps, the jangle of her keys, and then the lock of the front door.

He looked back down to the journal, flipping past the first chunk that he'd filled out with scribbles of bullshit self-discovery until he reached a dog-eared page towards the middle. He opened it and glanced over what he'd written there.

 _Name's DEAN WINCHESTER. Stuck here. Can't get back._

 _DJINN -  
\- LAST SEEN: Peoria, Illinois. old industrial district, abandoned building.  
\- WITNESSES: Leslie King, resident of Peoria. injured, blood loss, survived.  
\- VICTIMS: two female corpses, few months old. same count as before.  
\- INFO: hides out in abandoned buildings. tattoos, blue eyes, hand trance? can change reality? acid trip? death doesn't wake you up? feeds on blood. wish. feeds on blood = wish? dream. death doesn't wake you up MAYBE_

It was hard to tell if that last point was valid since his actions had been called _attempted_ suicide for a good reason, but then again, maybe his survival had just been a trick of the dream. The doctors had claimed the whole "not dead from a stab wound to the heart" thing to be because of Sam's heroic struggle with Dean just before the fatal last inch, but Dean knew that was crap. He'd wrestled with Sam earlier that night, and judging from the way he'd pinned his little brother down without even trying, he doubted the guy could've overpowered a nine year-old girl, let alone a battle-hardened hunter. He also didn't remember much between the stabbing and waking up at the hospital, which, he figured, meant that he still had to suspect Sam and everyone else as being the djinn's sandman cronies.

That damn _djinn_. Dean ran a hand over his face as he studied his meager notes for some clue that he'd missed, some reassurance that he yet had a way to break out of this world that he so badly wanted to believe was real. It figured that he couldn't if the djinn was in control of everything, though Dean doubted that he would have been able to find its lair in the first place if that were the case. Even weirder was the fact that he hadn't had any visions of ghostly girls and hanging bodies since that night.

This whole thing was so damn confusing.

He rubbed at his chest, the scar from the injury still ugly and sore under his shirt after several months of sitting on his ass. They'd given him a load of painkillers to help with it, but he'd only used a few of them, and that had only been his first week out of the hospital. He'd stashed the rest the same place he'd hidden a couple of kitchen knives: Just inside the vent under the bed.

Dean looked back to his notes and his hand went for some more popcorn only to find that the bag was empty, much like the beer bottle on the bedside table. He made a slight groan, got up, and made his way towards the kitchen, wondering with some amount of anticipation if Carmen had restocked the fridge or not. The whole idea of buying real groceries was still pretty sweet to him.

Dean was about halfway there when he heard a knock at the front door. That in itself was another novelty: Having a somewhere he lived in rather than slept in, a place where a knock at the door wasn't necessarily from an angry motel owner or angry cops, or angry demons, or angry hunters, or angry women, or anything else that was angry and out to kill him, really. Hell, Dean would've been excited to answer whoever it might've been if he hadn't been in the middle of pondering his fate and playing the role of a recovering crazy.

"Dean?" A painfully familiar voice called from the other side. "Dean, I know you're in there."

Dean was at the door quicker than he should have been, but old habits died hard, and in the end, the strangest part of this whole world was how little he saw of Sam. He turned the lock, opened the door, and grinned at his somber-faced brother.

"Hey, man!" Dean said with more enthusiasm than he should've, considering how gloomy Sam looked. Even now, it was hard for Dean to remember this Sam's need for personal space, and he had to consciously squelch the urge to slap him on the shoulder in greeting. "What's up? Haven't seen you in a while!"

"Oh, not much," Sam said lightly, glancing out at the front yard as if appraising just how weed-filled the lawn was. "Been helping Mom with some stuff, taking some elective courses online..."

"That's _awesome_." Dean said even though he had no idea what an elective course was or how you could take one online. He stepped out from in front of the door and gestured Sam in with his hand. "You wanna come in, have a--" he stopped himself "...have some popcorn or something?"

"Yeah, sure," Sam said, moving past Dean and into the living area. He glanced from the chairs at the table to the couch.

"Come on, take a seat!" Dean offered, moving into the kitchen area. "I'll fix something up for you or... something."

Sam almost smiled. "Dean, the last time you tried cooking pasta at home, the thing boiled over and melted part of the counter."

"Well..." Dean faltered, wondering what to say. He imagined he would've sucked at cooking even if he'd grown up normal, though he also had to consider that Sam was sly enough to test him on all this.

"Yeah... yeah, I remember that!" Dean chuckled, going for the fridge and pretending to glance at its contents as he racked his brain for proper BS material. "Dad sure ripped me a new one over that, huh?"

"Yeah," Sam said, "if you think that him yelling at me for letting you take over the stove and him making you pay for the repairs counts as 'ripping you a new one.'"

Dean looked back at Sam and blinked.

"Huh?"

"C'mon, Dean," Sam smiled sardonically as he took a seat at the table, "he was a great guy and I loved him too, but let's face it: _you_ were always his favorite."

Something thudded in Dean's chest at that, and his brow knitted as he turned back to the fridge and grabbed the first thing he saw: A box of leftover Chinese. By the time he turned around and set the food on the counter, he was wearing one of his best fake grins.

"Well, yeah," he said, opening the take-out container and peering at its contents: Orange chicken, by the looks of it. "Maybe he would've understood you better if you'd spent more time hanging out with him instead of studying your butt off."

Dean inwardly winced as he waited for Sam's reply. He was taking shots in the dark here, but at least they were _educated_ shots, and from the stiff smile that crossed Sam's face, it looked like "education" was still a pretty touchy subject in this flipside version of the Winchester family.

"Yeah, well..." Sam paused, as if trying to find a good middle-ground between polite and scathing. "I don't have any regrets."

"Ouch," Dean said, though he didn't really know what to follow that up with. He might have yelled at real Sam in this situation, but then again, even real Sam wouldn't have said something so cold in such a pleasant tone.

"Yeah," Sam replied vaguely. "Ouch."

Dean shifted his weight and fiddled with the take-out container. He finally grabbed a plate and poured out the contents of the box before shoving it in the microwave.

Sam sighed as he rested his elbow on the counter. "Not really hungry, and especially not for your leftovers."

"Who said I was making this for you?" Dean shot back, sounding more defensive than he meant to. Sam frowned even though he didn't say anything, and they spent the 45 seconds on the microwave countdown in awkward silence. Dean preemptively racked his brain for more vague stories he could use to lead Sam on with, though he couldn't shake the gravity of what his brother had said. After all, Mom and Dad had _looked_ really damn proud in that graduation picture back home, so what the hell could have been so bad that Sam resented Dad for it?

"Dean--" Sam started as the microwave beeped and Dean pulled out a hot plate of greasy goodness, "--we need to talk about something kinda important."

"Sure thing," said Dean as he grabbed for a fork and then fell into the chair opposite Sam's. He braced himself for some lecture on psychos, some demand for an apology, or maybe some reference to family drama that he probably knew nothing about, all of which he could probably handle with some amount of smoke-blowing and sarcasm. What he didn't expect, as he took a bite of the chicken, was:

"Mom thinks it'd be a good idea if we went on a roadtrip together."

Dean nearly choked on his food. He looked up at Sam, Sam who _wasn't_ Sam, Sam who was prissy and stupid and Sam who Dean thought would last about five minutes on backcountry roads before he hurled.

Sam who he wanted to keep safe.

"What, is she _nuts?_ "

Sam leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as if he was delivering bad news to a deserving party. "Apparently, Carmen told Mom that _you_ said that you wanted to go on a roadtrip with me, and _she_ thinks that it'd be a good way for us to bond and help you get over your... whatever it is."

Good God, Dean thought. Sam told stories like a _girl_. And worse, the whole family had turned hunting evil into some cheesy Lifetime special, and all Dean could do was mentally kick himself for letting his guard down and mentioning anything in the first place.

Out loud, he said: "No disrespect to Mom or anything, but, uh..." He took another bite and didn't bother to swallow before continuing. "Don't really need any homemade remedies. Already feelin' awesome."

He gave a chicken-filled grin to both prove his point and gross Sam out. From the wince on his brother's face, it looked like he'd at least succeeded at the second objective.

"No disrespect to _you_ , but I don't think you're the best judge of that," Sam grumbled as he shifted in his seat. "And you're the one who put the idea in their heads, so don't act like this is my fault. I don't want to do this and I don't have the time."

"At least we agree on something," Dean muttered, shoveling down his food. He was craving another beer, but he knew that getting one would end with Sam giving him that _look_ , and while Dean usually didn't give a crap what people thought of him, seeing Sam's eyes with that kind of disdain hurt like hell.

"Yeah... listen:" Sam leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "I don't know if spending that kind of time with me will help you or not, but Mom thinks it will, and that's what matters here."

"Glad to know you're puttin' me first."

"Dean, this isn't a joke." Sam's tone turned severe and Dean found himself tensing because of it. "She's worried sick over you and you owe her that much if you're going to pretend you're getting better."

"Who says I'm pretending?" Dean shot back, angry not because of the accusation but out of fear that he'd screwed up as badly here as he had back home.

"Oh, come on, Dean," Sam gave a humorless laugh as he met his eyes. "Everyone else has high hopes for you, but I'm the one who made the trip that night. Kind of hard to fool me after that."

Dean opened his mouth to respond before closing it again. The kid was right even if Dean didn't want him to be, and though Sam had blocked out the supernatural aspect of the whole excursion four months before, it didn't seem like he was letting go of the other details any time soon.

Dean glanced down at his plate and registered that he'd already eaten everything. He took the opportunity to stand up and walk to the sink, though as he did so, he was thinking more about his immediate future than the pile of dirty dishes on the counter. He _did_ have to roadtrip, bad, not because he needed it and not because he particularly wanted to, but because a life this comfortable was too good to be true and even if it was real, he owed it to the world to put things back the way they were.

He just wished his family didn't have to pay for it too.

"Sam..." He started, then faltered. He didn't know how to tell someone 'I need to fix things so your life is horrible again' even if the someone didn't know it, and he doubted any kind of rewording would convince Sam that Dean was cool to take the trip by himself. Besides, like Sam had said: This wasn't about Dean. This was about Mom, and what Mom needed to see was her kids hanging out together even if they had to be force-crammed into a '67 Impala to do it.

And damn, the _Impala_. Dean would be lying to himself if he said he didn't miss taking his baby out on the open road, something he'd been completely deprived of ever since the doctors had diagnosed him and put him on heavy meds (or so they thought).

"...When'd we be leaving?" Dean finally asked over his shoulder, thoughts of newspaper clippings and his tarp-covered car at the forefront of his mind. "And how long 'till we get back?"

In the corner of his vision, Dean could see Sam's shoulders sag as if he was disappointed about his own success. That was Sam's version of sacrifice for his family, Dean guessed, and though it was pretty weak all things considered, he still had to respect the gesture.

Sam sighed. "In a couple of days," he said, rubbing his eyes. "We'd only be gone a couple of weeks. Just need to talk to Mom and let Jessica know what's going on."

Dean felt a surge of guilt and he found he couldn't raise his eyes to meet his brother's. If he went through with what he needed to do, there'd be no Mom to make happy and no Jessica to keep up to date. There'd be no home to go back to, no law school, no pasta boiling memories, and no summer elective online classes or whatever the hell they were called. There'd just be him and Sam, alone and on the road and driving towards a dark and uncertain future. They'd have a loaded gun between them, and one day, Sam would ask him to use it.

Dean wondered if he kept convincing himself this was a dream because he couldn't handle the thought that he was making a conscious choice. Hell, he didn't _want_ to have a choice, he didn't want to feel like he was throwing something beautiful away just to end up in the miserable place he was. He'd steeled himself when he'd first gone after the djinn, but after four long months in this place, even with the doctors and the wound and everyone worrying over him, he felt weaker than he ever had. He didn't want to go home.

But he had to.

"Sure," he caved with a long, shuddering breath, covering it up by rubbing the sore scar on his chest. He forced a smile that came out looking more like a grimace. "What the hell, let's go on a roadtrip."

Sam didn't look like he was doing much better, though Dean figured it was all relative. His brother took a similarly deep breath and said: "I guess that's that then."

"Yup," said Dean. The two of them were a damn bucket of sunshine.

Sam stood up from his chair, looking a weird mix of reluctant and determined. "I'll go back to Mom's and pack up the Honda in the morning. You talk to Carmen and get your clothes and whatever else together."

It took a whole two seconds for Sam's words to register with Dean, and by the time they did, his brother was already halfway to the door.

"Whoa, waitaminute." Dean's eyes narrowed. "If we ain't taking my car, I ain't going."

" _Dean_ \--" Sam snapped as he turned back towards him. It seemed like he'd been expecting this and hadn't been looking forward to dealing with it. "I don't know if it's gotten through your head yet, but _you're_ not going to be driving, period, and _I'm_ not driving a hundred miles in some macho car with old brakes and no seat belts."

Stung, Dean jabbed a finger in Sam's direction. "You'd best watch your mouth or get a fist in it, y'hear?!" After a pause of consideration, he added: "And who the hell says I can't drive? Who the hell says _you_ can?"

"Mom is who," said Sam, indignant. "The whole point of this trip is to help you get over being crazy. Meaning you're crazy now. Meaning... you're not allowed to drive."

"Aw, _c'mon!_ I was crazy back when we drove to Illinois, right? Key word being _drove_."

"No, Dean, key word being _crazy_."

Dean wanted to shoot back something about how he'd ended up saving some poor girl through his 'crazy,' but he resisted. Reminding Sam of the details of their last trip wouldn't do much for his cause and besides, he figured digging his heels in would be the only thing that could save him from a new-age pansy car now.

"Whatever." Dean grumbled. He turned to yank the fridge door open and grab a beer, not caring much how Sam looked at him when he wasn't acting like _Sam_. He turned to grab the bottle-opener, then headed for his bedroom. "You can pack up the Honda, but I'm only leaving if we're going in my car."

" _Dean--_ "

"Hey, man, your call."

Sam seemed too frustrated to express himself in words, and Dean walked past him with a small smirk on his face. He wasn't surprised at all when he heard Sam exhale, then say: "Fine, we'll take the Impala."

"Damn straight," Dean grinned, turning around to face Sam again. "And if you crash it, you're dead to me."

He didn't pay much attention to the look of resentment that crossed Sam's face. After all, Dean was just saying that to play along; he'd sooner swear abstinence than not drive his own damn car.

\---

"Make sure he takes his meds," Mom said as Sam managed to squeeze a bottle of shampoo into his already-stuffed bag of toiletries. "And keep an eye on him! He's doing much better, but..."

"I know, Mom," Sam replied for the fourth time that morning.

He glanced at his suitcase, then at the laptop bag on the bed, and then at his watch: he was supposed to be at Dean's place in fifteen minutes, and due to Dean's ridiculous notion that Dad's old Impala was the only thing worth driving in, Mom and Jess were going to have to drop him off there.

"Hey, Sam!" Jess called from downstairs. "You going to eat these pancakes or what?"

"Gimme a sec!" Sam yelled back, zipping up his last bag and throwing it over his shoulder. Mom grabbed his laptop bag before he could insist that she didn't need to, and he took his suitcase by the handle as he headed out of the room.

"And you _promise_ you're not going to let him drive?" Mom continued even despite his reassurances. "No matter how much he complains? Because you _know_ he'll complain."

"Yeah, trust me, I won't." Sam said, trying his hardest not to sound irritated and impatient. The idea of spending hours in the car that Dean and Dad had treated like a chariot of gold all his life was bad enough without the thought of Dean behind the wheel. "I do value my life, you know."

"So long as you're firm about it," Mom laughed.

They reached the foot of the stairs and Sam dropped his bags, immediately heading towards the kitchen. He was ready to scarf down a couple of pancakes if only to show that he appreciated Jess making them; he already felt guilty enough about abandoning her with his mom even though the two of them got along like mother and daughter, which, Sam guessed, was a pretty good sign that their engagement would work out in the long run.

"Hey!" Jess smiled as soon as Sam walked in the door. She seemed to interpret Sam's rush to his seat at the table correctly, because she followed up with: "Running late?"

"Yeah, a little," Sam returned with a weak grin. He grabbed a fork and dug into the pancakes she'd already set out for him, then glanced out the hallway to see what Mom was doing. It looked like she was taking a long time finding a sweater, and knowing Mom, she was probably just doing it so Jess and Sam would have some alone time before he left.

Jess slid into the chair next to his. "I thought you were Mr. Punctual. Or is that just with school?"

Sam paused before smiling wryly, though genuinely. He wondered if the reason he'd asked her to marry him was because she never failed to know what he was really thinking and he never failed to know what she was really saying.

"Yeah, Jess, just with school," he replied, putting a hand to the side of her face. "And you."

"Isn't that sweet." Jess smiled back, and she kissed him on the cheek before standing up again. "Now eat up so you have one less thing to complain about."

And Sam did eat up, and Mom did eventually find her cardigan, and they did manage to arrive at Dean's house roughly on time. They didn't even have to knock on the door; Dean was already out front loading the Impala, and he grinned as the three of them got out of Mom's car.

"Hey!" He called, shoving in one last duffel bag before he walked over to greet them. Sam watched as he gave Mom and Jess a couple of those weirdly big, tight hugs, and then turned to do the same for Sam before stopping mid-motion and taking a step back.

Sam really, really tried his best to put on a smile.

"Hey, Dean."

"Hey, Sam!" Dean said cheerfully as if there _wasn't_ a giant invisible wall between them. He turned to Mom and Jess. "It's great to see you guys. Sorry if I've uh... if I've worried you a lot, Mom."

"What?" Mom blinked, looking a little taken aback. "Dean, I'm always going to worry about you."

"Yeah, but... more reason to do that, seein' as uh..." Dean trailed off, and it was a good thing that the oncoming silence was broken by Carmen calling out to them from the front door. After a general round of "hellos" and "how are yous," Mom and Jess took up Carmen's invitation to come in for some coffee as Sam declined and went to grab his stuff from the car.

Dean waited until the girls went inside, then gestured vaguely towards Mom's sedan. "So... What'd you bring?"

"Clothes, textbooks, laptop, and... soap," Sam said, trying not to let on just how uncomfortable he felt. The far-off dread he'd felt towards this trip was beginning to manifest as a horrible weight at the pit of his stomach, though the thought that he'd be helping out Mom in some small way made him feel a little better. "You?"

"Just some clothes," Dean answered a little too casually, and Sam might have called him on it if he hadn't been preoccupied with juggling his bags and trying to get the trunk open. He apparently looked as incompetent as he felt, because the next thing Dean did was walk over and motion for him to step away.

"Trunk's kinda tricky, champ."

Dean jiggled his key in the lock and pried it open. Sam opened his mouth to protest before pursing his lips and handing Dean his bags.

"Whatever you say," he grumbled. If the guy wanted to feel smart about something, it was better to let him have his moment before they got out on the road.

"That's an awesome attitude right there, Sam!" Dean grinned, and all Sam could do was look over his brother's shoulder and make sure he wasn't tossing the bag with his textbooks on top of the bag with his laptop. Surprisingly, he'd actually put the laptop bag to the side as if he already knew the drill, and even more surprisingly, there wasn't much room left in the trunk in the first place.

"Huh," Sam remarked.

"What?" Dean asked, glancing at him.

"Nothing." Sam shrugged, taking a step back again. "Just remembered the trunk being bigger is all."

"Well," Dean said, slamming the top closed, "you used to be smaller."

He turned, glancing from Sam's head to his toes.

"A lot smaller."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Sam rolled his eyes, not really in the mood to deal with Dean whining about how he'd once been the taller of the two. He looked towards the house to see Jess standing in the doorway, coffee mug in hand. She waved at him.

Sam waved back and ambled over, hoping that this was a sign that Mom and Carmen were talking over Dean's current condition and would continue to do so for a good while longer.

"Looks like we're all packed," he said, glancing back at the car. Dean looked like he was checking under the hood one last time, and Sam vaguely hoped his brother wasn't sabotaging anything for the purpose of making an excuse to take over the wheel.

"That's good," Jess said, taking a sip of coffee. She arched an eyebrow at Sam's noncommittal grunt. "Or is it?"

"Just..." Sam trailed off, finding himself staring at the car he'd be spending far too much time in these next couple of weeks. He shook his head and looked back to Jess. "Just thinking of how much I'll miss you."

"It's not like you're going off to war." Jess laughed, nudging him in the arm with her elbow. "It's just two weeks, Sam. I think I'll manage, and who knows? Maybe you'll actually have fun."

"You sound like my mom." Sam gave a reluctant smile. In all honesty, he really did hope there'd be some kind of upside to this trip, because it'd be a real damn drag if there wasn't. He was at least glad Jess seemed to have a positive outlook on the situation, and he let her enthusiasm spill over into him until he finally managed a grin.

"All right," he said, resting his arm over her shoulders, "and if I don't call you once a day, assume Dean threw my phone out the window again."

"You're _still_ angry about that?" Jess giggled, tugging at his sleeve with her free hand.

"Hey, I had a lot of important stuff in that thing!" Sam gave her a look halfway between sheepish and indignant. He tilted his head. "And it's kind of scary not to have a phone when you're driving to god knows where with a psycho at the wheel."

The words had come out of his mouth without much thought beforehand, and he tensed a little as he heard heavy footfalls come up the walkway. He slowly turned to see Dean wiping his hands on a rag.

"That why you don't want me driving, Sam?" He asked lightly. Sam could hear the hurt in his voice, subtle though it was.

"No, Dean," he said, trying to keep his tone cool even though he wanted more than anything to demand why his brother felt like he deserved _any_ trust right now. "It's because I promised Mom I wouldn't let you."

Once again, Carmen had impeccable timing when she decided to step out the front door and interrupt a conversation tilting heavily towards the side of awkward. This time, Mom was following her, though instead of a coffee cup in her hand, she had a paper bag that Sam could only imagine held Dean's medication.

"All right, girls!" Carmen said, moving past Sam and Jess to put an arm around Dean. "Time to say goodbye to our guys."

Dean grinned just before he kissed her. "Gonna miss you."

"And _I_ ," Mom said as she moved towards Sam and Dean, "am going to miss both of you."

Carmen and Jess moved out of the way so that Mom could pull them both into a hug that was probably only awkward for Sam, and even then, only from one side. When she pulled away, she looked the happiest she'd been since her birthday dinner four months ago, just before the excitement from Sam and Jess' announcement had been completely overshadowed by Dean's actions that night.

And this was the guy who demanded they go in his stupid car.

Sam pulled away and Jess gave him her own hug and kiss that Sam vowed he'd remember throughout the frustrations he'd no doubt encounter on the road. He began to walk away, and it was when Mom handed him the paper bag and whispered to him that Dean needed to take one of those and one of _these_ every day that he realized he was actually going through with this; he was actually going to spend two weeks cramped in the trophy car of a brother he couldn't stand with said brother riding shotgun.

Sam caught Dean's keys when he tossed them along with a wink and a click of his tongue. Sam got the weird feeling that this was more normal for Dean than it was for him, and as he climbed into the driver's side and began adjusting the seat and the mirrors, he sighed.

"What?" Dean asked, sliding in and slamming the door behind him. "Never driven a classic before?"

"Never driven a _tuna boat_ before," Sam corrected him.

He winced as he turned the ignition and some manner of electric guitar immediately began blaring from the speakers. His hand shot out to turn the radio off before he even put the car in gear.

"What the _hell?!_ " Dean exclaimed, looking at Sam like he was a total stranger--which was kind of weird, considering he _was_ and it shouldn't have been something shocking. "What's the matter with you?"

"I can't concentrate on getting used to this thing with all that noise, Dean," Sam said. He began backing out of the spot, shooting Jess one last, long, nervous look before he put the car in drive and started heading down the street.

"It ain't noise, Sam," Dean said, leaning forward and turning the music back on. He cranked up the volume and grinned.

"It's _Kansas_."


End file.
